


La Fleur de la Mort and the Hogwarts Charter

by AzureLightningEmeraldCloud



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, F/F, Post-Cursed Child, Post-Deathly Hallows, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-09
Updated: 2017-08-11
Packaged: 2018-08-07 17:25:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 13,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7723303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AzureLightningEmeraldCloud/pseuds/AzureLightningEmeraldCloud
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>CURSED CHILD SPOILERS</p><p> </p><p>The Daughter's stint in Azkaban becomes interrupted by an unexpected guest.</p><p>This is my first Harry Potter story, which will focus on the eponymous Cursed Child: Delphi. This is my insane version of what could happen after the play ends. This is also a time travel story, and it's femslash. I'm one of those who honestly sympathize with villains more often than is probably healthy, but I don't romanticize them either. So here is my story, do with it what you will. Also, if you recognize it, I don't own it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Final Sanction

**Author's Note:**

> I know that Hermione addressed the press during the crisis when Delphi had the time turner, but that's not how my story works, because i think Hermione is a smarter character than to commit political suicide like that, also dragging Potter down with her. So, the public doesn't know what really happened, only rumors.

The Hogwarts Charter

Part I: The Final Sanction

"It's her, Voldemort's _daughter!_ "

"She ain't too bad on the eyes for the Dark Lord's whelp."

"Shut it! Show her respect!"

"She does look a bit like Bella. "

"The Cursed Child!"

The whispers of the _lesser_ prisoners followed the young woman as the Aurors lead her down into the Azkaban Catacombs, the most secure branch of the recently augmented prison. Dementors wraithed through the ashen corridors, the wisps of mist both clinging to them and parting in their wake. The Aurors escorting the young woman were both over a foot taller than her.

_Minister Granger, ever the politician, wanted the iconic image for her propaganda arm: The Daily Prophet. She wanted everyone to see the short little girl, powerless between the two hulking numbskulls as she disappears from the public consciousness. As if these two could hope to take me in a fight._

_HA! It took Harry and Mrs Potter, their imbecilic son Albus, Malfoy and his admittedly smarter scorpion of a son, the stupid Weasley, and his scheming wife, Minister Granger to disarm me. And only then, only barely could they beat me. And they consider themselves the strongest of their New Era._

_And I'm only approaching my twenty-third birthday!_

She was almost unnaturally pale with high cheekbones and wide, bright, eyes; contrary to what the emaciated prisoners thought as they leered and gestured at her, those eyes held not a shadow of fear. The cold that permeated every inch of the place seemed to have a minimal effect on the young woman.

The Aurors noticed this, both exchanging a nervous glance over the bound woman's head as she almost leisurely let out a foggy breath, looking at it disappear with something akin to childish awe in her posture. The winter air didn't help the seasoned Aurors feel any better as the _Final Sanction_ ; the final vault, guarded by a black portcullis from which more than one legend can trace it's heritage from, creaked as it opened it's maw for the approaching trio.

The young woman felt both Aurors tense as the gate reached its zenith and a burst of snow burned their hands, since they were wearing Auror standard gloves and not winter ones. The Prisoner wasn't unaffected by this new cold, but she relished the small discomfort radiating from her jailers.

The young prisoner's small moment of joy was muted as she fully, for the first time, contemplated the emptiness that would be the rest of her life. All for killing one stupid spare.

_Father, I failed you. I, I just wanted to see your face, and Mum's as well. I wanted to hear you both say my name…_

_And Lord Salazar; I am not worthy to be called your heir._

_I'm so, so sorry._

Three Months Later

"Minister! Minister! To what do you say of these anonymous allegations that Albus Severus Potter and Scorpius Malfoy were involved in the murder of Craig Bowker Jr., since their deposition makes it clear they were the last people to see the poor boy alive?" A reporter shouted from the second row to the back.

Minister Hermione Granger raised her eyebrows at the unexpected question and then composed herself, "Those two boys were cleared of all charges, and there is nothing to suggest they were perpetrators in that awful incident. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement has every confidence they have the guilty party, the only guilty party. The perpetrator was a female in her twenties, who is now entering her fourth month of incarceration in Azkaban Prison. If you have all exhausted your questions for what we are _supposed_ to be gathered for here today, then that will be all. Good Day!" With that, Minister Granger elegantly descended the podium.

"How do _you_ know it was her? You classified the trial so it wasn't open to the press, much less the public. So, as far as we know, no wand was produced that had fired the _Avada Kedavra._ We don't have a confession on record from your _unnamed_ convict either. Potter and Malfoy's wands were laid meters away from the poor boy's cadaver, conveniently snapped."

The young reporter showed no signs of backing down, she had tasted blood. "Minister! How do we know you didn't pull a Cornelius Fudge on us, and this girl isn't just another Sirius Black you and your _best friend, Harry Potter,_ _AKA_ the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement,have locked up to protect your young family from justice? Where's the proof this woman is guilty? _"_ The young reporter's questions followed the Minister for Magic out the door as she paid the reporter no further attention. Hermione and her assistant got into a black Rolls which immediately departed.

"Helen, why has young Bathilda Skeeter been so keen on the Bowker case this week?" Her tone wasn't confrontational, but guarded. Helen, the assistant, was lost for a moment in contemplation before diving in.

"Perhaps because you were re-elected last week and this is still an unresolved issue from your previous term?" Hermione's eyes flashed dangerously so Helen amended her statement, " _You_ know it's settled, _I_ know it's settled, but the public was left in limbo on a case that had the potential to be the trial of the century. So it's understandable why they're miffed. Mister Potter didn't even let the public know the woman's _name_." Helen finished decisively; she knew her boss appreciated candour, even on the bad days, and today wasn't great.

Hermione sighed, she knew Bathilda Skeeter had a point, she knew Helen was correct as well, but it was all just so complicated. _I couldn't just say, oh, by the way, we nearly supplanted this timeline with one where Voldemort and his daughter rule the continent as father and daughter, and all the muggleborns and muggles have been wiped out. OH, and it was all Albus Potter's fault because he had massive daddy issues. Oops._

It would just not do. Delphi Diggory had never existed. _We don't even know her real name. All we know is that she's probably more powerful than her father, and she's only a fraction of his age! Not even her monster of a mother could have held her own in a duel with this girl._

_Azkaban: The Final Sanction_

The Prisoner was sitting down in the dark. There was no light at this, the deepest level of the prison. _A life sentence for a murder they couldn't even prove_. _At least Cedric Diggory was good for something._ The solitary young woman was just that, solitary. There were no other prisoners who were considered dangerous enough to warrant this level of security. _Perhaps if mum had survived the Battle of Hogwarts, she'd be in here with me. I wouldn't be so very alone._

Even though there was no light, she had counted the days. It wasn't some uncanny ability to measure time in absolute darkness that allowed her to understand what today was. The blood lightly flowing in delicate streams down her thighs was enough of a marker. Her cycle was timed almost flawlessly to the lunar cycle, and tonight was the full moon.

In the dirt near the centre of the atrium sized space she now inhabited in the dark, was the countdown she had drawn. It wasn't like the guards had given her anything but the cloth covering her body to maintain her personal hygiene, Minister Hermione Granger and the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Harry Potter, were very clear in their intent; locking her down here with food once every two days and water every one: _you'll die down here, and sooner the better._

The young woman's menstrual blood was now in an unbroken line from its origin to the inside of her heels, speckling the dirt in unseen droplets.

Getting down on her knees, she located the most recent tally markings and made another. She sat back on her heels for a moment in contemplation; a few light tears fell from her cheeks.

In a resigned tone, the girl whispered, "Happy Birthday Delphi." She lightly blew the sand, blurring all the lines. There was a moment of silence before she began to sob.

For a short while, the sound of silence was disturbed by Delphi's emotional birthday celebration. And then there was light.

There was a flash and a brief report that deafened Delphi, shocking her out of her grief. There was a long spell of silence before a new voice filled the room, a heavily accented Irish voice. " _Lumos"_

A bluish light poured forth from the gem at the crest of the newcomer's walking staff. Delphi was simply stunned at the new arrival: He was a youngish man, a very short man, not much taller than five feet. He had piecing eyes, one emerald, and his other, vibrant amber. He leaned on his staff, which topped out at his eye level. His garb was a light armour that seemed to be made from black-dyed dragon hide and cloth with amber trimming. There was a creature embroidered in emerald on the man's chest: Delphi recognized it instantly: a basilisk in the shape of an **_S_**. The eyes of the beast looked to be some sort of blue gem. The man looked around for a moment, confused. As he turned, his cape came into Delphi's view. It was midnight blue with a blood-crimson trim.

If Delphi weren't so gobsmacked at the presence of another human being, she would've been quite impressed with his outlandish fashion. As it was, the emblem on the cape made her gasp: it was the Hogwarts crest.


	2. Birds of a Feather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Irishman and Delphi have a talk.

Part II: Birds of a Feather

_Azkaban Control Centre_

“The wards have been triggered! There’s been a breach in the Catacombs!” A tall pale Auror roared as she swept up her robes over her shoulder and whipped out her wand. “Inform Mr. Potter and the Minister immediately!” With that, she and her younger partner, a tall man with immaculate dreadlocks flew from the room down into the depths of the prison.

 

_The Final Sanction_

The man with the staff looked…confused. Delphi was still having trouble adjusting to the light pouring from his walking staff, but she focused on the basilisk emblem on his breast. _What kind of man has that on his armour?_ _Who wears armour anymore?_

The man in question had finally located the wretchedly beautiful young girl. “So, you summoned me?” He spoke softly. For her part, Delphi was still in awe and more than a little confused.

“Who, who are you?” she got out, her voice was soft, and dried out. She hadn’t really talked all that much in the darkness of solitude these last several months. As Delphi’s eyes adjusted to the light, she realized that he couldn’t be much older than herself. His expression softened as he took her in, fully realising the state of the poor girl.

            “What is this place?” He asked, totally ignoring her question. Delphi’s face flickered with irritation at her brush off before answering his question.

“Welcome to Azkaban, where the soul degrades, and the weather is lovely.” Delphi half-heartedly sneered. Then she realised what he had actually said, “What do you mean by ‘summoned’? I didn’t call you here.”

            The man rolled his eyes and exposed his left forearm, a movement that caused Delphi to reflexively flinch. Her reaction didn’t go unnoticed, though didn’t get more than a raised eye from the mysterious Irishman. Delphi quickly recovered and laid her eyes on what the man was trying to show her. “I figured you could explain this marking to me, since the last few times I’ve ah, travelled like this, there was no such marking.”

            Delphi gasped, on the man’s forearm, where she knew members f her father’s order of Death Eaters bore their oaths of fealty: their Dark Marks. Although, on this left arm was a smaller version of her own tattoo: the Irish Phoenix; an Augurey. _What the bloody hell is going on? How did he get into this godforsaken place?_ “It’s an Augurey,” Delphi said softly. Her change in tone for some reason caused the man to look her up and down properly for the first time.

            He swiftly whipped his cape off but she shrank from whim when he initially tried to drape it around her shoulders himself. Realising his mistake, he looked humble as he lightly handed it to her instead. She breathed out deeply as she wrapped it around herself, she then inhaled his scent, and her eyes widened accordingly. This man had shed blood. _Not in the metaphorical manner, this man has spilled blood on himself sometime in the last couple days. Enough to leave a scent. Perhaps he didn’t wash it off his clothes properly._ Delphi breathed her realization in a cloud of porcelain frost, which swirled between them for a moment before rising above. It was cold enough that it didn’t dissipate until it was well over their heads.

            The man huffed; clearly whatever plans he had for his day were now well and truly derailed. Delphi gazed at him with a piercing look, and his eyes narrowed as he stalemated her advance on his mental barricade. “Cheeky, aren’t we, little girl?” his tone was a bit venomous, but it failed to deter Delphi’s increasingly fierce gaze.

            “Who are you, and how did you break into here, the most secure known prison in the world? Bypassing the wards alone would take even the best curse-breaker several days of intimate and uninterrupted focus,” Delphi all but spat out. While her tone invited no warmth, the Irishman couldn’t help but smile at this shivering woman in front of him, who had the courage to besiege his mental shield as well as question him in such a manner.

            “ _My identity and presence is tied invariably to your own.”_ The Irishman said casually.

            “ _Talking in riddles won’t help me, or you.”_ Delphi replied tersely. Noticing how the young woman’s expression remained the same stone cold exterior, the Irishman smirked. “ _What’s so funny Irish?”_ Delphi asked menacingly.

            _“I’ve already revealed my identity to you, girl. You’re just too stubborn to acknowledge it.”_ He smirked, even more.

            _Parseltongue. He’s a Parseltongue, Irish, and he’s wearing… oh my stars…_ “You’re Lord Slytherin.”

            He chuckled before replying, “Not _Lord_ , I am simply, _Salazar_.” He corrected her casually. “Slytherin was a ostentatious moniker my colleagues invented, though I blame Helga for it mostly though. I returned the favour to her tenfold” His voice had almost completely lost the edge it had moments ago. It was actually sounding mirthful, which seemed to baffle Salazar’s company; the woman’s awed expression was just fantastic.

            There was a few moments of silence before Salazar noticed the temperature beginning to drop a little too quickly for his liking. Delphi, for her part, was still shocked to be standing in the presence of _The_ Salazar Slytherin.

            “I’m Delphini, Delphi actually, and I’m your heir.” Salazar grinned at her rushed delivery of her greatest secret, but of course he knew that already. _Great, I sound like a fucking doe-eyed groupie. I’m the bloody heir; show some backbone!_

            “It’s good to know your name, Delphi. Though before I describe to you how I ah, _appeared_ here, I’d like to know how _you_ came to call this place your residence.” Salazar spoke calmly, befitting his status as a legend. “Now, judging from your earlier attempted seizure of my memories,” he began, lending his voice a palpable edge in order to show his young descendent _exactly_ how he felt about Delphi’s earlier gaffe, “you’re no novice, despite your youth.”

            “I’m not a child, I’ll have you know,” she began before he cut her off with a hand raised in a gesture of acknowledgment.

            “This is a prison you say? Why are you here?” Salazar now spoke to the crux of the matter.

            Delphi thought for a moment before answering with the predictable, “It’s rather complicated,” Salazar nodded, unimpressed. Delphi huffed and said, “Officially, I’m here because I killed some Mudblood, or he probably was. Truthfully, it doesn’t matter. He was going to try and deny me meeting my father for the first time.”

            Delphi could feel the temperature drop now. It was profound, and its source was Salazar himself. Despite her confidence in her non-magical skills, she shrank from the man whose ire was now causing the obsidian-coloured stone floor to frost over in earnest. Before Salazar could verbally respond to Delphini’s bombshell, there was suddenly a rumbling of stone and a foreign light joined the pair.

Reflexively, Salazar non-verbally cast a dome shield, isolating them from the pair of wizards and a couple Dementors who entered the Final Sanction. Delphi marvelled at the shield, for it was a proper barrier. From her vantage point, almost two metres of a pure amber magic separated the air from their side and the air being breathed in gasps by their new enemies.

Practically hissing and enraged, Salazar then collected himself, almost gently held out his hand. His expression was unbelievably taut and restrained to the point where his eyes were glowing eerily. “ _This discussion is not ended, girl, and since I intend to imminently continue this conversation, we will relocate to somewhere safe. Once I have dealt with your jailers.”_ The newcomers gasped as they heard the eccentrically clad short man hiss at Voldemort and Bellatrix’s daughter. Realization chilled them to the bone: he too, was a Parseltongue.

The Dementors were not having it with being denied their query. There was a flash of almost pure shadow before a small breach slowly appeared in the dome, allowing the first one through. As it carved a path through the barrier, the human jailers stayed firmly on the other side. The two Aurors were unwilling to share such proximity with a Dementor, so they watched as the lead Dementor finished its breach, and advanced on the two Parseltongues.

The male Parseltongue then did the unthinkable. In three movements, he drove his staff through the stone floor, pulled Delphi behind him, and then approached the encroaching wraith unarmed, and with an openly violent grin creeping up his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is part II, I hope you all enjoy it! Please leave a comment/note or a kudos if you liked it.


	3. Knowing Better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione Reads a candid article by Bathilda Skeeter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is part 3, I split it with part 4 so it's shorter than I'd like, but I wanted to update something so here it is. Part 4 should be along soon. Enjoy!

Part III: Knowing Better

_The Minister’s Offices_

            _Something must’ve happened_. Hermione was waiting in her office for Harry so they could Floo to Azkaban together. The message just said there was a ‘breach in the Azkaban Catacombs: The Final Sanction.’ There was only one occupant there, and personally, Hermione was hoping that monster of a girl would get busy with the dying part of her sentence.

“ _I just wanted to see my father!”_ Hermione shuddered at the utter humanity of her last encounter with the ‘Cursed Child’. Before throwing the girl in prison forever, none of them had really thought about it, they believed Albus and Scorpius when they said she had murdered the Bowker kid, but now that action on their part was causing much bigger problems than any of them had anticipated. _Harry made her an orphan when she was nearly the exact age her father made him an orphan._

            They had tried to find out more about the girl’s background, but all they really knew was what she told the two young boys: that she had a somewhat miserable upbringing at the hands of one of Voldemort’s most ruthless and erratic Death Eaters: Euphemia Rowle. Nobody in the Rowle family had been located after nearly four months of Harry’s premier Aurors searching them out.

Hermione had the case files of ‘Delphi’ poured out over her desk. She didn’t even have a registered wand of her own. The wand they had confiscated upon capture was registered to a random wizard from Godric’s Hollow, and as such had only the spells she used after they confronted her. As much as Hermione hated to admit it, _none of those spells are admissible evidence against her since we were the ones who forced her to defend herself so violently. And that's assuming we’d be stupid enough to let Madam Susan Bones get her hands on it, after all, that same wizard reported it missing in 1981 and went to Ollivander’s to get a replacement that November. Harry wouldn’t let any of us kill her, not that I’d want to go down that path, but he isn’t blind to the similarities in their upbringing._

Hermione looked at a news article from the past week written by Bathilda Skeeter, who had seemed intent on redeeming her family name’s ill reputation regarding the truth by becoming the best damn journalist this side of the channel. Her mother Rita named her daughter very well. None of the young woman’s points were wrong, or even unreasonable. And she definitely wasn’t going to let anybody off the hook until there was proper evidence provided other than the testimony of two incredibly wealthy and famous teenagers.

Bathilda’s article from the widely read purveyor of truth, _The Quibbler_ glared up at Hermione from where they lay on the edge of the ample desk,

**Knowing Our Betters**

**by Bathilda Skeeter**

**Imprisoning a young woman for life in the newly Dementor reinstated Azkaban prison is a steep sentence. It is true that our ministry under previous administrations has a storied history of letting known Death Eaters like Lucius Malfoy and Augustus Rookwood among others walk free after enough money has changed hands. It is not in dispute that under our current Minister, Hermione Jean Granger-Weasley, that crime has seen a marked drop after the decade of reconstruction from what most call the Second Great Wizarding War. This writer prefers to call it what it was: The United Kingdom’s Second Attempt at Pureblood Fascism. This conflict was ended in a final bloody siege at the castle where most of us lived in our early days. How things have changed since then. For starters, we are currently enjoying the second term of Britain’s first ever Non-Magical Born Minister for Magic, the afore mentioned Minister Granger-Weasley.**

**However, it is in times of complacency, times of peace, when we, the public, must be constantly vigilant of our leaders, however illustrious they histories may be.**

**Four months ago next Saturday, Mr. Harry Potter’s Aurors escorted a young, unnamed girl into Azkaban Keep. This was done following a formal tribunal attended by… unknown. Yes that’s right, we don’t know who sentenced this girl, and yet we are assured it is a legitimate ‘trial’. It certainly wasn’t a normal day in court, though all the necessary personnel sanctioned it in order to book a cell in Azkaban for the young Miss.**

**The Minister, Madam Bones, and Auror. Potter have declined comments from this publication, as well as the Daily Prophet and numerous other foreign publications. So, who is this girl? Her treatment suggests only one strong possibility: Our Leaders Fear Her. Obviously this assertion carries some pretty dark implications.**

**The cowardice of our _vast majority_  Gryffindor leaders and policy makers aside; are we as the British public so enamored with war stories to not ask the hard questions of those who presume to ‘know better’? Did Cornelius Fudge ‘know better’ when we accepted his lies about Tom ‘Voldemort’ Riddle’s return to active combat? Did Barty Crouch Sr. ‘know better’ when he sentenced the hero Sirius Black to Azkaban without a trial? **

**Do Minister Hermione Granger-Weasley and DMLE Head Harry Potter ‘know better’ when they put a young girl in Azkaban without public evidence and prosecution, and ask us to not to question them?**

_That brilliant young reporter isn’t wrong. Harry told us, “If it had been Lucius or Barty Crouch Jr. or Bellatrix who found me instead of Hagrid, …I hated the Dursleys so much, I would’ve been loyal to just about anyone who would spring me from them, at least for a time before meeting different types of people and getting to know them, something Hogwarts has always systematically discouraged. And Delphi, she was deprived of any sort of friendship, raised in an environment of hate for who knows how long. We know she didn’t go to Hogwarts or any of the other schools.”_ Hermione groaned as she rubbed her temples lightly. This entire situation was a mess. If they put forward an honest trial for Delphi, they would all end up in Azkaban for committing an automatic lifetime offence, time meddling. Not to mention, Scorpius and Albus wouldn’t be spared by their age, as it was all their fault. The price of sticking that _accursed child_ with the proper evidence to put her away forever would come at too high a cost.

Hermione was still thinking of the implications of that candid conversation they had not so long ago, after things had settled down. _She is what our legacy made her._

Harry burst through the door with his best trainee, Victoire Weasley. “Let’s go,” he said as Hermione nodded and without a further thought, walked into the green flames.

 


	4. In the Wake of a Legend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry, Hermione, and Victoire arrive on the scene.

Part IV: In the Wake of a Legend

_The Final Sanction_

            Hermione, Harry, and Victoire entered the chamber, weapons drawn. The tableau that greeted them flew in the face of reality. The two Aurors that Harry had stationed there, were both unconscious against the wall, their wands were lying by their hands. While Victoire dropped down to check on her colleagues, Harry and Hermione approached the centre of the chamber. _She should have been secure here, not even Voldemort was powerful enough to wandlessly overcome the wards added to this accursed place; Bellatrix neither_.

            Delphi was gone.

The only trace of her escape was a faint silvery glow staining the ground in the centre of the room. It occurred to Hermione that there were no Dementors here, which was odd since protocol dictated that they be present during a breach in the prison. _What happened here?_

“Wake up,” Victoire muttered as she waved her wand, casting the nonverbal spell. The older of the two Aurors woke up, she gasped for air for a good ten seconds before calming down. Her muted grey eyes wandered erratically for a spell before settling on the young Victoire’s forget-me-not blues. “Auror Janssen, what happened here?” The young Auror asked softly, yet firmly. Harry stood over Victoire’s shoulder, watching his old friend Maren come to.

“She wasn’t alone, how is Jones?” Maren gasped out finally. Jones was breathing steadily, and as Maren mentioned him, Harry gestured for Victoire to wake him up as well, which she did. Harry then prompted Maren to continue once Jones had realised he was safe once more. “The Prisoner was not the instigator of her escape. There was a man who was with her. He was short, maybe a few centimetres shorter than you, Minister. We didn’t get a good look at him, he erected a barricade of magic unlike anything I’ve ever even heard of. The Prisoner was wearing something new, a cape that was blue with red trim. She must have gotten it from the man. It had the Hogwarts crest on it. And Harry, he was a Parseltongue who clearly knew who Delphi was; they briefly hissed back and forth.”

She took a breath, so her younger compatriot continued the story. His voice was surprisingly deep considering he still had a child-like gleam in his eyes. “The Dementors got through the barricade, somehow. I’ve never seen anything like it. The leader went through first, and then the second one got through, but by then, the man had already _engaged_ the first one.” He shuddered and looked at his superiors helplessly.

Maren also looked _disturbed,_ a situation Harry had only witnessed once before on a case they worked together almost ten years ago involving Mr. Lestrange and the events that precipitated his death.

She did however, bring herself to eventually continue, “He kissed the Dementor, Harry. He bloody walked up to it and pulled it into a fucking snog…there was a blazing silver light that emanated from that kiss and must’ve knocked us unconscious back against the wall…somehow.” Harry paled at this new information. Hermione’s eyes were wide with possibility, the gears in her head turning far too fast for anybody but her to comprehend.

 _He willingly kissed a Dementor and didn’t forfeit his soul? This is new magic. The fact that this mystery Parseltongue broke into_ The Final Sanction _is evidence enough of an extraordinarily talent, unlike anything since Dumbledore or Voldemort._

_At a fraction of his age, and ours, she was able to overpower all of us. We only won that fight because she took one misstep and lost her footing. The fate of everyone we had ever met and anyone they had ever met was in the balance; and we won because a twenty-two year old girl rolled her ankle._

It was only then Harry walked over to the wall to notice an oddity that took his breath away: a Silhouette of a Dementor was _on_ the wall, it’s arms raised in a vain and reflexive defence. It reminded Hermione of pictures her mother had once shown her of the after effects of the atomic bombings of Nagasaki and Hiroshima. What Harry was now illuminating with his wand’s light was strikingly similar to the reverse-silhouettes on stone surfaces of people who were atomized by that nuclear light, evidence of their last moment etched forever into the stones they stood in front of as they died.

_Elsewhere_

            A flash of light and three forms exited the gash of light. Delphi and the third form crumpled to the floor, while Salazar calmly held his footing as the light behind them faded. Delphi caught the last of the light before it dimmed, _It’s almost like he blew a hole in space-time, the rift seems to be repairing itself away rather than simply fading._

            Delphi gasped as the humid air entered her lungs; it took her several breaths to acclimate to her new reality of non abusive temperature. Salazar looked at her with an unreadable expression; she was on her hands and knees facing away from him.

            His breath hitched as he noticed for the first time, that her heels were stained with almost identical streams of blood. He saw both trails lead up the inside of her calves before disappearing under the cape he was letting her wear. It hit him then, the cruelty she experienced, being even unable to attend to basic hygienic needs like cleaning away her monthly bleed. His eyes turned to the third figure cloaked in darkness. Its chest rose up and down at regular intervals. Salazar let out a breath that instantly turned into a wisp of frost upon leaving his lips.

            Delphi struggled to her feet, she was emaciated, Salazar could tell that much, and to be fair, he noticed it before. But seeing her _here,_ and as weak as she was, brought him a little bit of pain. “What the bloody hell just happened. You kissed a Dementor! How are you even here, much less smirking at me?” Delphi’s voice rang with both annoyance and admiration. Salazar was indeed smirking at the young woman. It was then she noticed the breathing of the figure that came with them through the breach. “What is that?” Then it hit her; it was the creature that guarded the cells, the lead Dementor of Azkaban Keep.

            Salazar leisurely turned the figure over with his staff, and to his grim satisfaction and her awe, there was a face that turned up to greet them, a beautiful, olive skinned and incandescent face framed in jet black hair. “It’s a girl?” Delphi breathed out in disbelief.

            “ _It_ was. And now _she_ is once more.” Salazar said before turning to face his charge. “I am unfamiliar with the phrase you used before, ‘Mudblood’. However, I’m pretty certain you mean something vile by it. So, before I explain how the ‘bloody hell’ I performed such a miracle, we need to discuss your proclivity for murder.”


	5. Mudbloods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Salazar gives Delphi a talking to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please kudos/comment if you like it! Here's part V.

Part V: Mudbloods

            The olive skinned girl, formerly Dementor, lay between them as Salazar conjured a couple garish chairs for himself and Delphi, along with a soft golden quilt for the sleeping girl. With a sigh Salazar began with, “So, why did you find it necessary to kill to achieve your ends?” Delphi’s eyebrow raised at the calm demeanour Salazar maintained while asking such a potentially fraught question.

            “He got in my way,” Delphi muttered tersely.

            “Try again,” Salazar retorted.

            Delphi huffed, realising that she wasn’t getting out off this as easily as she’d have hoped. “I was going to alter the past, shaping events so I’d get to meet my father. He was killed when I was an infant you see, so I had only heard stories of him when I was little. Since an alteration in time creates a new timeline, the Mudblood I killed would’ve been jumped into the new reality with everyone else.” Delphi explained calmly, without a hint of remorse. “He was going to try and stop me from achieving my life’s dream. If I had let him go and then failed, which is what ended up happening, he would’ve been able a witness who would try to see me locked away forever.” _Okay, that might be logical leap, well, it’s more of a hop really._

            Salazar listened patiently as his young charge explained herself. The girl at both of their feet let out a small moan, but did not wake. Salazar looked back at Delphi after a moment or two peering at the former Dementor. “I understand why you took his life. I assume you didn’t dawdle? It was a clean death I hope, perhaps a curse that stopped his heart or removed his head?” Delphi frowned at that sentiment, it was worded oddly.

            “I used the Killing Curse,” she replied matter of factly.

            “Killing Curse? I am not familiar with that.” Salazar stated curiously.

            Now Delphi was surprised, “It’s green and it basically stops the body from working all at once, instant death that doesn’t leave a mark,” Delphi explained with a sense of wonder: it wasn’t every day you get to explain one of your favourite spells to your ultimate idol.

            Salazar watched his descendant explain this ‘killing curse’ with an unnatural glee in her eyes, it chilled him ever so slightly. But more than that, his eyes dropped a little in sadness for what must’ve shaped this young girl. Delphi for her part looked around, and could make out vaguely green tinged stones by the light from Salazar’s staff. “What does ‘Mudblood’ mean?” The question was innocent enough, but there was a strong sadness behind it that confused Delphi.

            “It’s just another word for magicals born to muggles.” Delphi responded a little too casually, with almost forced neutrality.

            Salazar wasn’t having it, “It’s not _just_ another word, is it?” His voice was becoming significantly colder; the floor was beginning to become harder with frost, like the last chamber they were in.

            Delphi was beginning to feel truly afraid alone with this man. _I’ve badly misjudged this man’s reputation, or at the very least, his tolerance of casual violence against Mudbloods._

            After considering for a brief moment, Delphi told the truth, “No, it _isn’t_ just another word. It’s a word fashioned to wound.” Her voice was quieter than before, humbled. Salazar’s glare had vanquished her earlier cockiness.

            “ _If that’s the case, then I’d much prefer you to not use that_ word _again, least of all in my presence, am I understood, Delphini?”_ Delphini’s back straightened automatically at being addressed in Parseltongue. She nodded, thoroughly admonished. _I haven’t been dressed down like this since I was 7 years old._ _I have to ask though, I need to know the Salazar of legend isn’t a total lie. Please don’t let it be a lie._

            Plucking up her courage, Delphi asked, “I thought you hated mud…muggleborns.” Salazar’s brows almost climbed into his hair.

            _“What.”_ His voice sheathed a violence that Delphi wasn’t eager to let loose.

            “History, and frankly most of the legends tell us that you hated muggleborns and even made arrangements to eradicate them from your school.” Delphi’s voice was quiet, but it was also steeped in curiosity. “Um, have you built Hogwarts yet? I’m guessing you’re a time-traveller after all. I don’t know where you’d be on your own timeline.” She petered off, watching his face go through quite an impressive rally of expressions.

            It took a few moments, but Salazar eventually collected his thoughts. “I will not deny I have slaughtered many non-magical men. Rarely women, but there have been times. However, I’ve always done so in defence of the realm, in defence of those who could not protect themselves.”

His expression hardened, “And yes, I have _dealt_ with more than a few non-magical born students, but _only ever those who have betrayed their own kind. Endangered this castle and our students._ ” His voice was deathly quiet, yet venom dripped off every word. “Every student who walks through the threshold of Hogwarts Keep is under a duty of care. A duty of care that myself, along with Rowena, Helga, and Godric have made blood-oaths to uphold. However, _if a student, or group of students, no matter their age intentionally and unashamedly plot against the health of their peers, they are_ dealt with.”

The young woman with faded blue-tipped hair gaped. _So, at least his ruthlessness wasn’t exaggerated. He has killed children, I can hear it in his voice._ She decided to test the waters, “So the other three? They accept you _dealing_ with students who commit treason?”

Salazar rubbed his eyes before replying, “Godric understands why we can’t afford to be merciful not when there are so many young magic users who meet horrid fates, but he cannot dirty his hands, it is against his _code._ And I understand that in him.” Salazar chuckled darkly at that. “Rowena is much the same, she pursues knowledge and is an unparalleled inventor of magic means, but she is not one for dirtying her hands with that awful business either. His eyes became sad.

Delphi was almost, no, she _was_ afraid to ask, but she did it anyway. “And Helga?”

Salazar was quiet for a long moment as he looked off into the darkness at the edge of his illuminated staff’s reach. “Helga is the one who forced the issue, who insisted on such harsh measures. You must understand, for Helga, there is no greater moral trespass than betrayal, especially when she has lost too many of her beloved students to such instances of hatred.” He stopped for a moment to take a breath.

Delphi was deadly quiet, but soon enough, Salazar resumed, “It is Helga and I, Delphini, who _kill_ the _all those who are untrustworthy to study within our home. all those who_ actively threaten the stability of our all too fragile haven.”

For several minutes, the only sounds were the drip, drip, drip, from out of sight; and the steady deep breaths of the anomalous girl lying on the ground at their feet.

Delphi was trying to move past the shock of this new revelation, but not quite managing it, “So you don’t hate them all; the _non-magical born?_ ”

            Salazar shook himself out of his daze and looked at her as if she spat on his mother, “ _Of course not! How could I hate them when I count myself and my beloved as two of their number?_ ”

           


	6. The Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Salazar gives Delphi some wisdom.

 

Part IV: The Awakening

            There were no words. None at all. Delphi’s shock at this, of all revelations was something she was well and completely unprepared for. _SALAZAR_ _SLYTHERIN IS A MUDBLOOD? HOW IS THAT EVEN POSSIBLE?_

_How could father and mum not have known?_

_How had that fact been buried, when it undermines the entire outlook of Slytherin house for centuries, at least according to Auntie Euphemia, the slag. Calm down Delphi, he’s looking at you like you pissed in his kitten’s face, calm down._

“Wow, I’m just… I need a moment,” she said as she sank down against a wall, eyes doing anything to connect with Salazar’s.

“Is your prejudice so powerful that you cannot accept who isn’t a pureblood like you?” Salazar asked coldly. “You called me _Lord Slytherin_ before, where did that sentiment go? Do you think my strength or soul, and what path I walk has anything to do with my parents?” His tone was positively livid now.

Delphi stood ashamed. Her head was bowed at being admonished again, by a man who she had originated the ideas she lived her life by. _I dedicated my life to you, and you’re a Mudblood…no, a Muggleborn._ Delphi was breathing in deeply as she tried to calm the maelstrom inside her head. Salazar was certainly angered by the attitude of this young girl, but he also recognized conflict on her face.

Salazar thought, ‘ _everything Delphi believed in, she believed came from me. But that falsified figure of myth is just that, a lie told by cowardly wizards trying to hold onto their own power.’_ She was leaning against the wall with one arm, trying to take in the collapse of her entire world perspective. After a few minutes, Salazar decided to intervene, but as he opened his mouth, Delphi said softly, “I’m sorry, _Salazar_. I misjudged you.” Salazar looked up into her eyes and saw genuine remorse for her assumptions against him.

“I forgive your bigotry towards me, Delphi, however, you should remove it altogether. It is unbefitting of am heir of mine to harbour such petty and frankly, unintelligent perceptions of the people around them. Awaken to the world, Delphini, don’t fall in love with your misery,” Salazar’s gaze wouldn’t let her go.

There was a moment of conflict that blazed in Delphi’s eyes before the irrevocable truth of his words struck her deeply, “I…I will try.” Delphi almost whispered.

“Trying is for the weak, Delphi” Salazar said firmly. “I expect you to do it.”

Delphi nodded as she let out a breath. “Well, now we’ve got that settled, I suppose we should deal with _this,_ ” he said as he motioned to the unconscious girl in tattered black robes lying at his feet.

“You need to explain what happened, because I’ve seen and done very dark things, but surviving a Dementor’s kiss is something nobody’s ever heard of; much less said Dementor turning into beautiful teenage girl.” Delphi’s curiosity got the better of her and she winced at how the words sounded leaving her mouth, like a little girl on a sugar high.

Salazar’s gaze had softened after her concession of her own bigotry. He knew it took a lot out of the girl to relinquish a measure of her pride like she just had. He too turned his gaze to the young girl on the ground. “I’ll be perfectly honest with you, Delphini, I’m not sure how this happened. I meant to kill the Dementor honestly, this is frankly, new to me.” Salazar said with a certain measure of awe in his voice.

Delphi just gaped at him, “How are you not freaking out?”

Salazar’s eyebrow quirked at this phrase, “Freaking...”

“Perturbed, you are not. Why?” She elaborated.

“I’m more curious than perturbed, she’s no older than my own daughter.” Salazar said quietly. Delphi’s eyebrows rose at that, but she didn’t interrupt him. “I have encountered these wraiths before, and I know how to fend them off, but their origin was always a mystery to me. It seemed that seeking out souls was their sole purpose in life, and every interaction they have with humans is in service of that goal.”

Delphi finished his thought with, “And they don’t go after the souls of other sentient creatures like centaurs or Thestrals,” Salazar nodded at this.

“Exactly. Why only humans? Surely, a soul is a soul, whether it come from a human or not. They don’t differentiate between magical and non-magical either. So, I figured there would be something tying their origin to humanity. So I created a spell, with some help, that essentially activates a Patronus inside of them, and a patronus is only an extension of our souls, and the soul energy they take from others in the immediate vicinity. Have you ever cast a Patronus?” Salazar paused in his theorizing as he posed the question to Delphi. The girl with the faded blue-tipped hair shook her head in embarrassment.

And her expression said it all, _though I’m the most powerful mage I know, I simply don’t have undiluted happy memories to use in defence against those foul creatures. How my father controlled them wasn't through he strength through a Patronus, but a bribe of fresh souls. I wonder if his time with my mother ever gave him joy, or if it was a means to an end??_ Salazar, for the first time, looked upon the girl with pity, though he’d be damned if he let her catch him looking at her like that.

            “Patronuses draw on the energy of those around them other than the caster?” Delphi asked, legitimately surprised.

“Of course, and I’m guessing that the one I put in her was so powerful because you were also in my vicinity. Right now, if I duelled you seriously, I’d kill you in less than a few minutes.” His tone belied his cruel words, which gave Delphi comfort. “But there is something I realised about you a only moments after I saw you, your magical potential makes me look like a weakling child. And it is your latent power’s proximity that I believe allowed my Patronus to change this Dementor back into a girl. And yes, I am now almost certain Dementors were once people, though how they became wraiths still evades me.” Both of them were looking at the young girl between them, cloaked in Salazar’s conjured golden quilt.

 

Delphi, despite her initial apprehension, kneeled down and stroked a lock of jet-black hair out of the girl’s face. Her tone was softer than it had been before, but still quite pointed, “Was it really necessary to kiss the Dementor…her? Do you care so little for your own soul? Or are you a lecher?” Delphi added with an eye roll.

Salazar thought for a minute, looking slightly sheepish and said, “It was a hunch that Rowena conferred to me not long ago. And I suppose Godric’s influence is really as infectious as it is dangerous.”

Delphi looked at him for a moment with an odd expression before returning her gaze to the young woman. If Salazar didn’t know better, he’d call the look on his heir’s face something akin to compassion, “She can’t be older than 18, can she?” Delphi wondered aloud as her moment of weakness passed. Salazar shrugged.

Delphi’s thin fingers lingered lightly on the girl’s cheek, but were drawn back when the girl’s pale eyes flew open.


	7. Parseltongues United

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The demented girl awakens. And then there's a change of scenery.

 

Part VII: Parseltongues United

Delphi gasped as the girl immediately let out a watery sob. _Well, if I were a Dementor I’d probably have a nice cry too._ To her surprise, Salazar looked as baffled and out of place in the new girl’s presence as Delphi felt. Her left eye was pale, but another lock of errant hair covered her right eye. _Is she blind?_ As the girl gently began to wipe tears from her eyes, Delphi and Salazar both noticed something peculiar going on. Well, _more_ peculiar. _No, there isn’t a pupil. Instead, there’s white mist in it, like a patronus… what?_ Delphi wasn’t sure, and Salazar wasn’t giving her any cues. The Demented girl continued sobbing, which was beginning to make Delphi fidget; she wasn’t used to this feeling of helplessness. _What could I say to make this, creature, feel better? WHY AM I CONCERNED FOR HER RIGHT NOW?? I don’t even know her name…does she have a name?_ Cautiously, Delphi knelt down and took the weeping girl, who was now in a hunched sitting position, into an awkward embrace. This small act won an amused look from Salazar that Delphi’s half-second glare immediately shot down as her eyes flickered crimson.

They stayed like that for a long while, the girl’s sobs became quieter, but did not ebb away completely. Delphi, despite it all, was strangely comfortable with this new arrangement. She had never willingly hugged anyone else before. It was…odd, but not altogether undesirable.

“Do you have a name?” Delphi asked. The girl seemed to have not heard. Delphi, however sympathetic in the moment did not take kindly to being ignored under any circumstance. She shook the girl in her arms lightly, “ _Do you have a name, girl?”_ Salazar’s eyebrows climbed his forehead as the Dementor girl’s sobbing came full stop. She was looking up into Delphi’s eyes, which were shining against the backdrop of the darkness around them. Delphi only now realised she lapsed into Parseltongue again, and closed her eyes at the unforced lapse in concentration; to be fair, it was her first language after all.

            The girl shook her head lightly. _She doesn’t have a name? I’m an unwanted orphan and even still…I am Delphi._ Delphi looked at Salazar for help.

            The Demented looked up into Delphi’s eyes with a sense of wonder that made Delphi slightly uneasy. “ _You understand our speech?_ ” Salazar questioned lightly.

            The silent girl turned her head slightly, to meet the standing man’s questioning gaze, but wasn’t able to hold it as she did Delphi’s. She nodded slowly. _How is that possible? She’s…wait a minute; we don’t know anything about her, for all we know she could be from an earlier era than Salazar is!_ Delphi’s mind was leaping to separate conclusions at a frenzied rate that she wasn’t used to; it was…something she could get used to. Salazar had an idea, “Do you understand our speech?” he repeated in English.

            The girl narrowed her eyes in concentration, as if trying to read his lips. _She only understands Parseltongue? That’s, well…unheard of. Isn’t it?_

            The drip, drip, drip, in the background seemed to get louder as the silence between the three of them grew. Delphi was stumped. _What’s going to happen now? Where am I? What is Salazar going to about this…girl? Wait a moment…_ Delphi rolled her eyes in self-exasperation as she realised communication could resume as usual between her and Salazar. “What are you going to do with her?”

            Salazar cocked his eyebrow at the question, himself deep in thought. After an uncomfortable amount of silence punctuated by the dripping water all around them, he responded with, “You need to learn empathy before you can truly start your path to redemption.” Salazar’s voice was calm, and frankly a little bit pleased with himself.

            Delphi, who had the young woman’s head resting on her shoulder like a pillow, looked fantastically childlike as she shot her look of indignation at her slight elder. “Empathy?” Delphi practically hissed back at him.

“Yes, empathy. You lack it, at least for non-magicals, that’s a problem that needs to be solved as soon as possible I think,” Salazar responded confidently.

“Didn’t you just finish explaining how you and Helga murdered non-magicals and your own treasonous students?” Delphi shot back.

Salazar’s brow furrowed, but only briefly; dealing with petulant children was more up Helga or Godric’s alley than his. But he had learned patience, over the years. “Yes, but I didn’t mention that our students are also required to help the local unaffiliated non-magical villages. By which I mean non-religious villages, or religion that does not demonize us as a people.” At Delphi’s climbing eyebrow, he chuckled as he said, “ _Yes,_ we do interact with the non-magical communities that are open-minded enough. As a schemer, you can see the merit in that I think. You can’t just kill all your problems away,” he ended in a smirk. Delphi was once again shocked. The former Dementor was following their conversation with her ethereal eyes, which were softer now they had ceased shedding so many tears.

“You fraternize with muggles?” She got out, still gobsmacked.

“Fraternize? Well, they aren’t all savages, and neither are we. You forget, many wizards give non-magicals plenty of reason to fear us beyond the foundational fact of our kind; we embody fear for them. We change reality with our thoughts and whims.” Salazar’s face went from educational lecture to sly grin. Delphi’s face however began to anticipate chagrin. “You are going to live among muggles for one year, wandless, before I come back for you” Before Delphi could explode in rage at this order, he winked, and suddenly her voice was gone. After a few moments of well, violent gestures and her mouth forming violent words before she realised no sound was coming out, she exhaled violently a few times before calming herself. _Recognizing defeat sucks._

Salazar waited a few more moments before giving her speech back. “You will also take _her_ with you,” he said nonchalantly. Before Delphi could raise another maelstrom of hissing sounds, he said, “she’s taken a liking to you, and frankly, dealing with teenage girls has never been my strength,” he muttered that last part, and if Delphi looked hard enough she could see the creep of a blush begin on his face.

For the first time, Delphi looked at him for what he was, a young man, no older than thirty, blushing at the thought of teenage girls… _doing what exactly? Creep_ , Delphi thought with an eye roll, though there was also a grin playing on her lips. “So, let me get this straight and proper, you want me to venture out into the muggle world with a, a, let’s face it, magical anomaly in tow, and do _what_ exactly?” Delphi was significantly calmer now; after all, there was certain serenity in being resigned to fate.

“Live.” Salazar said, cheekily. Looking down and addressing the young girl, he said, “ _Delphi,”_ gesturing to Delphi, “ _will take care of you. She may seem abrasive at first, but she’ll make sure you don’t come to any harm, and she will take care of you, is that alright with you?_ ” he spoke in a much kinder tone to the young girl than when with Delphi, but that was to be expected. The girl nodded once, understanding him. “So, for now, we will part ways. Since I’ve already successfully come to your aide before, I’ll be able to do it again if you are in dire need. Until then, I will wish you good luck.” Salazar made a complex movement with his staff, which began to change hue into something closer to violet.

“Wait, how do you travel in time, and why are you doing this?” Delphi asked, with more desperateness than she’d like to admit. _He’s going to leave us…cheeky bastard!_

“Good questions…for another time,” Salazar brushed her aside. He was smiling now as Delphi held the demented girl closer in a way Salazar knew was instinctual. He thought, _it would seem this whim is the right decision after all, good luck Delphini…_ The light suddenly increased tenfold, and the dingy green drippy cavern disappeared.


	8. Awakening In a Strange Land

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected entry into a new setting.

Part VIII: Awakening In a Strange Land

Jane was the type of bartender who would more often than not hear out a customer’s most heartfelt confession. Though in all honesty it’s because one way or another, she ended up writing them into her stories, whether they were fanfiction or original.

Her estranged uncle had died in the war across the pond some two decades ago, and through some fluke of an inheritance clause, she ended up in possession of the Burgundy Flag: Inn & Brewery upon the death of her father, himself having inherited it from poor dead Stanley. Jane wasn’t the youngest barkeep in the area, but the family business was not something she had planned on being saddled with upon her return from university. Her staff was amicable enough, all four of them. And for what it’s worth, she knew a lot of people her age were scraping to find a living, so she wasn’t _ungrateful_ , just resigned. So when two strange young women turned up unconscious after closing in a flash of light, Jane’s day started looking up for the better, or at least more interesting.

Blue light flooded the room as time and space were rent apart, forming a portal of sorts on the East wall. What appeared to be two teenage girls fell through the portal. The larger of the two immediately went to check the vitals of the smaller girl, who she had shielded with her body upon landing. After that act of heroism, she went to stand and struck her head on the table they were under. It would’ve been funny if not for the immediate flow of blood from above her left eyebrow. Jane at this point was standing behind the bar, she had taken cover behind her bar when the girls flew into the room, but she heard a tell-tale crack of head on table that she had learned to recognize over her tenure as the barkeep, and peeked over the bar. The first thing she noticed was the younger of the two girls gently nudging the older one. The motionless older girl’s blonde and blue hair was being drowned in the seeping blood drenching her hair and face. _That’s not good._

Jane rushed to the first aid, which was conveniently in a box affixed to the West wall. The younger girl with jet-black hair was hissing something softly to the unconscious blonde trying to rustle her into consciousness, and failing. Jane quickly retrieved the gauze and grabbed the black-haired hand and had her press it into her blonde compatriot’s wound. “Hold this here!” Jane said quickly as she went to the telephone on the cash register. After Jane’s medic roommate was called, Jane took a breath while she leaned against the bar, trying to decipher this insane situation. _Ok, that one doesn’t speak English, does she?_ “Hello? Do you speak English?” Jane asked in a tone she considered pretty calm considering their circumstances. _Maybe French?_ “ **Do you speak French?** ”

The ebony haired girl with olive skin tilted her head in a gesture Jane could only interpret as, ‘What?’ _Great. Are they even Canadian?_ Seemingly having dismissed Jane, the girl went back to caring for her companion. The girl had grabbed an errant napkin, and was pressing it into the blonde’s wound in a mostly successful attempt to staunch the blood. Jane quickly went behind the bar and poured a cold glass of water. Without consultation, she got a clean burgundy napkin and moved back over to the pair of girls. The Canadian poured the water over the blonde girl’s head-wound, all the while gently washing away the quickly drying blood that had begun matting her blue-flecked hair. After a few moments, the black-haired girl tentatively put her hand on the cloth, and Jane let her take over cleaning the other girl’s face. Jane went to refill the water glass; once she returned they continued with their care for a little while in silence.

There was a sharp several knocks on the oaken door. The girl’s eyes widened in sudden fear, but Jane awkwardly patter her shoulder before walking over to the door to let her more medically inclined friend enter her establishment.

“Hey, what’s the situation?” Another woman with dark bronze skin and deep, luscious, auburn hair walked into the room carrying a medical bag in one hand and a bottle of Belgian Lambic Beer in the other.

Jane twirled one of those auburn strands before planting a not-too-chaste kiss on her new arrival’s lips, which was fervently returned, before breaking away and gesturing to the two girls in the centre of the room. “Welcome back, Abir,” Jane breathed out with a mixture of a smirk and deep blush colouring her usually pale face.

Abir raised a playful eyebrow at her wife before asking calmly, “What happened here?”

Jane sent a look at the two girls on the floor, then back at Abir; “That one doesn’t speak French or English. And that one smashed her head on the edge of the table and then passed out.” Abir walked over and set a gentle hand upon the conscious girl’s hand, squeezing it gently.

Abir opened her med kit and took out a small bottle, and quickly went to work on the deep laceration on the blond girl’s forehead, swiftly sealing the wound with the contents of the bottle.

Jane’s eyes didn’t leave the girl’s forehead until Abir had cleared away all the blood and the wound was sealed. Abir reached into her bag and pulled out a blue item that she shook for a moment before wrapping it in a couple layers of gauze and applying it to the now inflamed bump that had formed on the blonde’s head. Gently taking the silent girl’s hand, she laid her hand on the frozen block. The silent girl had watched the whole thing with wide eyes, but once she put the girl’s hand on the gauze-wrapped chemical ice pack, she calmed down, and some of the tension dissipated from her shoulders.

Satisfied that things were well in hand, Abir gestured to Jane to go back to the bar. Jane went behind to pour them both some whiskey. But before she could get the bottle open, Abir gave her a pointed look, and with a drawn-out sigh, accepted the bottle of Lambic raspberry beer that Abir was basically prodding her with and opened that instead. Abir acknowledged her small victory with a cheeky smirk as she took off her gloves and walked them to the trash in the corner of the room. The silent girl began humming a melody that neither other women recognized, but Abir found it cute. She walked back over to Jane, who had poured them both a cup of the raspberry beer, and was tentatively pouring a third for the silent girl, the blonde girl regained consciousness with a vengeance. The entire room darkened for a moment and when the lights flickered back on, the floor and table immediately surrounding the now wide-eyed girl was covered in frost.

“Where am I?” she let out in a harsh breath before her hand climbed to her head where the silent girl had kept the synthetic ice pack steady throughout the entire burst of action with remarkable dexterity.

Abir glanced at Jane and muttered in French with an eye roll, “ **You didn’t tell me they were magical.”**

Jane shrugged, “ **They did actually just appear in a flash of light** ,” she said as if struggling to remember.

 **“And that wasn’t something you thought to tell me?”** Abir whisper-yelled at her grinning wife. “ **I could’ve just used dittany instead of fucking superglue cause I thought they weren’t magical,** ” she continued to the growing mirth of her doe-eyed partner.

The blonde/blue-haired girl considered the silent girl for a moment before placing her hand reassuringly on the shoulder of the silent girl. “ _Thank you for staying by my side,”_ she softly whispered in Parseltongue.

The silent girl nodded excitedly and much to the surprise of the other girl, gave her a crushing hug.

“ **Aww** ,” Jane crooned softly, neither of them having caught the use of Parseltongue, rousing the attention of the woken girl.

“Are we in America?” she asked.

Abir turned in her seat and settled her eyes on her patient with a short laugh. “Lord no. We’re Canadian.” The blonde girl didn’t respond other than slightly raised eyebrows. “I’m Abir and this is my wife, Jane.”

Taking in the two beautiful women’s expectant look, the blonde with just a spattering of blue in her hair replied with a sigh, “Wotcher, I’m Delphi.”


	9. Debrief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Delphi and the Girl have a chat with Abir and Jane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I've been gone for so long. I've actually got the next chapter mostly done as well. Thanks for sticking with me.

Part IX: Debrief

Delphi’s attention was drawn away from the two gorgeous women at the bar when she noticed the Parseltongue girl’s eyes were a solid silver–but then her head tilted, and they changed in hue to crystalline blue, before shifting to green, then from hazel to dark brown. Delphi’s own eyes were wide, tracking such a phenomenon. She glanced at the two women at the bar before whispering in Parseltongue, “ _Your eyes. What colour do they think they are? Have they seen you change them? Can you control it?”_ Delphi nearly regretted using complex logic, but then the girl’s eyes settled onto a piercing hazel. Delphi nodded in approval before pulling her back in for a nice hug. Woman with darker hair was still whisper yelling at her wife in French _._ Must be muggles. No wizarding government bestowed such rights upon those on the fringes. It was barbaric really.

Delphi had found the source of the pain that was nearly intolerable. Above her left eyebrow. But before her hand could touch her injury, the dark haired woman, _Abir? Was it?_ , reached out and said, “Please don’t touch it. Let it heal first. You should apply the ice pack to your wound to mitigate the swelling.” Delphi nodded before gently taking the blue ice pack from the nameless girl and continuing to press it to her impressive bump. _What I wouldn’t do for a wand._ Delphi thought about stealing a wand for a moment before deciding against it, _if I can learn to lean on my wandless magic, I’ll be invincible with a wand. So, I’m in Canada. Fan-fucking-tastic._ Delphi looked at the snow falling outside; annoyed she didn’t notice that _little_ detail earlier. The detail she did notice, was the fact that neither of them were pestering them with questions. If she remembered correctly, and she did, when Salazar had appeared, there had been a distinctly visual disturbance.

“You’re not curious?” Delphi prodded slowly, rising to her feet as she spoke.

“Curious?” Jane replied with an arched brow.

“Yes. You treated my wounds–and I’m in your debt for that–but you have yet to query about the manner of our coming to appear here.” Delphi’s tone was gentle, but also searching, sussing out the intentions of the women before her.

The women exchanged glances. Delphi subconsciously positioned herself between them and her silent companion. It’s not that Delphi perceived danger, but she certainly wasn’t about to be caught off-guard. Not again. _Fucking Cedric. I’m glad that bugger died._

“If you want to know if we’re magical or not, you could just ask you know. There’s no need for such naked teasing.” Abir said with a roll of her eyes. She reached over the counter and picked up another two glasses for their British company. Glasses in hand, and picking up both hers and “Come and sit with us, o strange ones,” No, Abir could not resist her dramatic flair.

Quietly, both foreigners sat at one of the tables that Jane was already situated at, having brought over the green bottle of raspberry beer… which she perhaps too eagerly began pouring without waiting for Abir’s say so; or for that matter, the say so of either guest.

Delphi simply shrugged. She looked at her silent companion, who simply looked on, bemused, like it was all pleasantly new for her.

Before Jane could propose a toast, he silent girl gingerly grasped her glass with both hands, breathed into her drink, and thus it became frozen. Clearly, she, the girl, had not been expecting that. Her expression was comical, even with those eerie eyes.

There was silence for a moment before Abir burst out laughing, “That’s certainly a new trick. Apparently not on purpose though.”

 _Huh, Dementor Girl has frost-aligned powers too._ Delphi just shrugged it off before taking a sip herself. It was good, it reminded her of the ciders she’d get whenever she’d go slumming at muggle pubs. _I really need a proper conversation with this girl, I should at least know her name._

Jane checked her watch, and then consulted the clock hanging on the opposite wall. Abir rolled her eyes at Jane’s need for a double verification. “So, I’m assuming neither of you’ve got a place to stay the night?” Jane said mildly.

Well that was a pointless question, “Of course not,” Delphi replied. Abir raised an eyebrow at the tone Delphi used, but Jane’s hand on her thigh calmed her instantly. “If there is a place nearby you’d recommend to stay, we’ll be out of your hair and out of your minds.”

Jane and Abir exchanged a knowing glance: there was no way these two would afford a place, even a hostel for longer than a night or two, assuming one of them had pocket change. “And if you find somewhere to stay, how will you pay?” Abir ventured.

“Well, I–,” Delphi began to respond in a clear lie.

Abir cut her off, “Then again, I suppose the Imperious curse isn’t exactly a valid currency is it?” The steel in her voice drew a sharp look from Delphi, and oddly Jane as well.

Delphi schooled her features; “I don’t have a wand, so I believe the Imperious curse is out for the moment.” Delphi’s tone was mostly sardonic, though serious enough for the adults in the room to recognize Delphini hadn’t ruled out actually using the Imperious curse.

The silence that followed Delphini’s remark was palpable, until the younger girl finished her drink. The pleased look slowly melted from her face once she realised all the delightful raspberry liquid was gone. The resulting pout was so proundly child-like that the other three women dropped their harsh expressions for a much needed moment of the ordinary.

“ **They could sleep upstairs at our Inn,** ” Jane proposed, using French to mask her words. Abir and Jane shared a long look, before Abir rolled her eyes and splayed her hands out in a gesture of defeat.

“ **I’m gonna keep an eye on the elder one, she seems…dark, though she obviously cares for the young one.** ” Abir said calmly. “ **But if there is ever a moment where I feel that we are in danger…** ” she trailed off. Jane got the point.

“So,” Delphi said with a tad of annoyance, “Reached a decision about us?”

The Canadians stiffened, “Can you–,”

            “Speak French? Nope.” Delphi cut her off, over-pronouncing the ‘p’ in ‘nope’. “But I’m not a fool. Don’t treat me like one. Hell, neither is she,” Delphini said, nodding towards the younger girl who had now somehow under all their noses gotten a hold of the green bottle of raspberry beer and was chugging it like it was chocolate milk. “Holy shite kid,” Delphi muttered as she pried the bottle from unwilling hands. Delphi swiftly poured some in the girl’s cup and handed it to her, teaching moderation without words. She wordlessly handed the bottle to Abir’s waiting hand in a sort of truce.


	10. Ilsa

 

 

            Part X: Ilsa

 

            Both Canadians were impressed with this almost lazy display of prodigious magic, but then Jane frowned in what was rapidly approaching concern at Delphi’s deteriorating mood regarding her newly exposed and rather complicated situation. Jane considered for a moment and then said, “How about ‘Ilsa’?”

            Delphi rolled her eyes, “Isn’t that the frost-witch from that muggle film?”

            Jane huffed and said, “No, she is called _Elsa_ , but that is where I got the idea from, what with the frost-breath thingy and all.”

            The nameless girl’s hand wandered a little too close to the vodka bottle for Delphi’s liking so she gently enclosed the girl’s smaller hand in her own and gently shook her head. To her credit, the nameless girl accepted Delphi’s judgement and did not try to drink the vodka again. The four women sat there for a while longer before somewhere not too far off, a church bell rang eleven o’clock.

            Jane yawned, and Abir rolled her eyes. Jane gave Abir a light-hearted jab on the shoulder. Delphi noticed that the girl’s eyelids were drooping, despite her efforts to keep them wide.

            Jane also realised the younger among them also shared her tendency of sleeping during decent hours. “I’ll take her upstairs,” At Delphi’s raised eyebrow she said, “This place is also an Inn. We don’t have much business so we will be able to accommodate the pair of you. Don’t worry, we’ll talk more properly at breakfast, which is also on the house, that is if you’d be willing to tell us a little more about well everything about today.”

Delphi considered for a moment and then nodded. “Good.” Abir said. She considered the injury above Delphi’s eye for a moment before saying, “I’m gonna take Delphi to the clinic, she may have a concussion and I want to know for sure.” Jane nodded at her wife and looked expectantly at Delphi.

Delphini looked at the girl, then back at the two women, then back at the girl and threw caution to the wind. In full hearing of their hosts, she spoke in Parseltongue, “ _We will stay here for the night, go with Jane, she’ll get you settled in bed. I’ll return shortly once my injury is taken care of._ ”

The girl seemed to consider for a moment, and then gave Delphi a tight hug. Delphini stiffened, but then lightly put her arms around the teenager.

Delphi considered for a long moment, but then relented, for the sake of practicality, the girl needed a name. _“Would it be alright if we called you ‘Ilsa’?”_

She nodded, and for the first time uttered a concrete word, “ _Ilsa. Ilsa.Ilsa. Ilsa.”_ Ilsa said, testing it out. She looked up at the adults and beamed, her eyes shifting from hazel to frost.

“Well, at least that’s settled,” Delphi muttered with a relieved grin.

Once the girl and Jane had retired upstairs, Delphi drawled, “You both are quite adept at hiding your surprise at the pair of us and our snake speak.”

Abir shrugged, “It’s not really that weird, my mother’s family speak it, have done for generations, at least since the 1600s nearest we can figure.” She didn’t stop for Delphi’s gobsmacked expression. “I speak it too by the way, and I’ve actually been teaching Jane. She’s actually a polyglot so it’s much easier for her than I thought it’d be. Finding an old diary with Parseltongue in written form helped a lot,” Delphini still had a flabbergasted look on her face, so Abir amended, “We aren’t like most magicals. Snake speak doesn’t scare us.”

Delphi had admirably gotten her features under control, opening and closing her mouth a few times with no sound coming out, but she settled on, “And you’re dragging me to muggle medics to determine what you could do with magic?”

Abir wasn’t anticipating her ignoring the whole Parseltongue revelation, but she responded quickly with, “They can determine head trauma better than most healers actually. It only takes a precursory look into non-magical medicine to see that they are quite adept where the Magical World has only stagnated. It’s why Jane and I don’t live among wizards and witches.” Abir finished. Abir pulled on her coat and cast a warming charm over Delphi, “C’mon, let’s go, sooner out, the sooner we get to sleep.” Delphi just shook her head in wonderment at the day she’d had and the new people in her life as she walked out of the main door. Abir suddenly doubled back for a bucket of muggle chocolates which she placed on the doorstep. “Happy Halloween by the way,” Abir said as she tossed Delphi a red-wrapped chocolate. Delphini pocketed it with a small smile of gratitude.

It was snowing, and down the street she saw a small group of teens in costumes leading a few younger children from house to house. Delphi paused for a moment and let a partially formed snowflake fall until it stopped in mid-air a few centimetres from her hand. She held it there while Abir gazed on in mild fascination. “ _Happy Birthday Delphi,”_ Delphi murmured with a slight smile in snake speak before letting the snowflake fall to her hand where instead of melting, its partial form became full, and the young woman sent it lightly back into the sky.


	11. A Homecoming and A Truly Spectacular Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short Salazar focused interlude, and a short glimpse at the troubles about to plague Delphi as the first part of the story concludes.

 

Part X: A Homecoming, and A Truly Spectacular Fall

The figure in the newly formed crater straightened up. All around him, there was frost, but distinct lightning like flares, flickered between pebbles. Salazar looked up to find a tall woman gliding down the incline of the crater. Her mane of strawberry blonde hair flared out behind her in the wind, like a flickering flame. Only a single strand of grey compromised her youthful image. Likewise, her modified armoured dress robes and emerald cloak billowed out behind her, buffeted by the highland winds.

The remaining three Founders were terrified for days. And then time passed enough for that fear to birth its seductive child: despair.

Having seldom slept, Helga was absolved of responsibility trying to count the days, then weeks….it had been so very long.

Helga sighed in relief as her beloved straightened up and turned to her with a childlike smile of elation gracing his features. “Helga! Gather the others, I need to tell you what–,” he stopped abruptly as he took in the woman running towards him at full tilt. She was weeping. Her stuttering breaths were decipherable above the howl of the winds.

            She stopped her spring to him less than a metre away, put her trembling fingers under his chin, and pulled his face up so it was mashing into hers. After a few moments of reacquainting themselves with the others’ tongue, Helga pulled him up into the most punishing embrace he’d ever known, not that he didn’t love her all the more for it.

Despite standing on the tips of his toes, Salazar’s head barley cleared his beloved’s shoulder. Helga’s breathing hitched a few times as she let her inconsolable sobs free, at long last. Salazar was content to stay like this for as long as Helga would let him. There was truly nowhere he felt more…himself, than breathing in her scent as his chin rested on her collarbone.

The abnormally tall woman always carried herself with a grace that was rare, even among the more dainty nobles she was constantly compared against. Helga was a head taller than most men, and nobody could really say they’d seen her breach decorum. Seen her weep. Not even Godric and Rowena had seen more than a few happy, or rage-filled tears escape her.

Not even after the incident. Not even during the final, and most brutal culling of apprentices. Not even when Godric left the castle for the last time.

Only Salazar. Only he had seen the great woman let loose that most private of dams. Helga, and the other two, thought they watched him die…years ago.

But even with her long-time beloved, he’d never seen her like this. She was inconsolable. When Helga slowly retracted her embrace, Salazar reached up to the taller woman, and brushed the last tears from her face with his thumbs.

            Helga hiccupped and just looked searchingly into his and all Salazar was deciphering was ‘ _WHY WOULD YOU HURT ME THIS WAY??_ Salazar looked downwards in a rare display of shame. Here he was again, excited at his (and Rowena’s) accomplishment, while he struck destabilising worry into the core of the person who’s every breath stabilised his soul. It wasn’t right what he did to her. Even though the breakthroughs he and Rowena came up with could help many people, when did they ever give a damn about the inventors? Wasn’t it more important to ensure those closest to him were well, not petrified with horror and anxiety at his actions?

            “Helga, I didn’t… I’m…Your hair is longer.” He stammered as he raised his eyes to meet hers once more. His finger finding her solitary grey strand, which he held in wonder.

            She opened and closed her mouth a few times, before finally getting out, “Hildegard, she’ll be so happy to finally meet her father.”

 

_Back in Canada, like a thousand years later…_

            Delphi on morphine was relieved to know that there were only _mild_ abnormalities, according to the vaguely mango scented doctor with the clearly non-standard shoes. Abir was not relieved, at all. As it turned out, Abir was right to be worried. See, Abir wasn’t an idiot, and head trauma, magical or not, in cause or victim, was always dangerous. The biggest reason it was dangerous, in this case, was that that Delphi just couldn’t catch a break. A compromised inner ear, a couple wobbled steps, an ill timed gurney, and a tumble off the second floor balcony onto an upright panel of un-sanded glass later; and Delphi was in for a longer stay than she could have possibly feared.

            Abir shrieked and vaulted over the balcony, landing in a roll. She whipped her scarf from her head and began to desperately wind it around the gushing stump that was the shoulder joint of Delphi’s left arm.

**Author's Note:**

> Criticism is welcome so long as you're not uncouth or needlessly cruel. Please leave a note if you thought it worth reading, otherwise I'll never know.
> 
> Also, if you like femslash works, are probably bored, and enjoy my style, feel free to check out my other stories, in various stages of development.


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